


with strength and might

by CallicoKitten



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Implied/Referenced Torture, Inquisitor!Cassandra, Mages and Templars, Multi, Therinfal Redoubt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-10-28 10:40:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,649
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10829607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallicoKitten/pseuds/CallicoKitten
Summary: Rian Trevelyan is pulled from the wreckage of the Conclave and Thedas holds its breath.-the herald was part of the rebellion, it complicates things for the inquisition





	with strength and might

**Author's Note:**

> played a lot of dragon age this week, figured i would just vomit all these half-thoughout little stories on everyone
> 
> i've bent canon to make this fit and i was always kind of bummed you couldn't have your trev be an active rebel

Rian Trevelyan is pulled from the wreckage of the Conclave and Thedas holds its breath.

"A mage," Leliana informs her, a smirk curled on her lips. "From Ostwick. As far as I can gather, he left the Free Marches when the Circle fell and was attended the Conclave out of a desire for peace."

It has been three days. Rian has not awakened.

"That is all you have found?" Cassandra asks, irritated. "If we are sheltering a member of the Mage rebellion, we have to know."

Leliana's gaze is steady but she forgets that Cassandra has known for her years, has watched her work at Justina's side tirelessly. She knows many of Leliana's tells, many of her tricks. She knows to watch Leliana's right hand when Leliana wishes her to watch her left. "My people are still working on it, Cassandra. When the Circle fell many of their records were destroyed. I cannot will information out of thin air, after all."

-

There are marks on Trevelyan's body; scars, old and new. Curled, swirled, straight and jagged. Cassandra is certain they are the marks of a blood mage, no matter the lightning that bursts from Trevelyan's staff as they cross the mountains to the Breach. He would know to hide it from them.

"How do we know he isn't, though?" Cullen asks, after and Cassandra is greatful. Kirkwall is still fresh in both of their minds, old wounds reopening. He is trying to keep his voice civil, keep his voice steady. "And more than that, are we certain he was not involved in the explosion at the Conclave?"

"If he was, why would he help us close the rifts?" Josephine asks, ever the peace-maker.

"It may have gone wrong," Cullen says. "We do not know what they intended to happen. Perhaps they lost control."

"Would you treat him with the same suspicion if he were a rogue or a warrior?" Leliana asks. "If he were a Templar, in fact?"

Cullen sputters. He has yet to master the art of fortitude outside of the battlefield. "Well I - Well," he says.

Leliana smiles. She is being uncharacteristically quiet, hiding something Cassandra is sure. Cassandra has asked directly, she has asked indirectly and still she gets nothing. It is either something Leliana thinks is unimportant or something she knows will make them all very angry.

Cassandra has no choice but to trust her.

"We will watch him closely, Commander," Leliana promises. "But for now, he remains our only chance to close the Breach."

-

She keeps a close eye on him as they reach the Hinterlands, thinks he has left them as they close a rift on the Redcliffe road. He disappears from view after the first wave is dispatched, as the rift reaches out, green tendrils scorching away the grass.

"Trevelyan!" she cries, whirling around to find him, sword sticky with black demon blood. Varric and Solas are repositioning themselves, readying their positions for the next wave, of Trevelyan there is no sign.

She growls as the rift pulses, as the tendrils snap. The fade smells acrid, burnt. The demons  are brought forth with a cry. The Herald has left them. She should have expected it, she supposes. He does not fight like a Circle mage, he fights like an apostate, looks for higher ground, is constantly aware of his surroundings.

He has made a run for it. She is distracted as she fights, half-planning how they will recover him, analysing the scant words they have exchanged for any hint of where he might go, who he might run to. A shade takes advantage, catches a chink in her armour with it's claws and holds fast. She is turning with some difficulty to run it through when a bolt of lightning has it scrabbling backwards.

She looks up.

Trevelyan is atop the ruined walls of the old gates, twirling and slamming his staff directing bolts of electricity and spirit-bursts across the field.

Cassandra sets her jaw, nods a terse thank to him before rounding on the next demon.

He closes the rift with a snap, casts a barrier around himself and jumps down to join them. Varric flinches as he lands. "Could you maybe hold off on throwing yourself off of tall crumbling ruins until _after_ we've closed the hole in the sky?"

Trevelyan grins. It is, Cassandra realises, the first time she's seen him smile. It makes him look younger. "Don't worry; if it comes to it I'm sure the Seeker will have no qualms about loping my arm off and using it."

"I'm not sure it works like that," Varric says. They both turn to Solas who looks mildly amused.

"I see no reason why it wouldn't but it may not be worth the risk."

"A pity," Cassandra says, but lightly, let them think she's joking.

-

"Why would the Maker send him?" she spits, bitter and confused to Leliana in the warm of Haven's Chantry. "Of all those present at the Conclave, why would Andraste choose him."

Leliana's smile is bitter; the Divine's death has hit her hard. "I asked him, you know, the day after he awoke. He claims he does not know, that he cannot speak for Andraste. He does not even believe himself chosen." She sighs, eyes scanning a report handed to her by one of her many agents. "The Maker works in mysterious ways, I suppose we just have to trust He knows what He is doing."

Cassandra has lived her entire life on trust, her patience is wearing thin.

-

Her suspicions are confirmed as they leave Val Royeaux after Trevelyan shouts down the Templars, bristling and angry. "It was a waste of time coming here," he says, as they stalk out. "We should have gone to the mages first."

Cassandra should bite back but she is too busy replaying the conversation with the Lord Seeker, confidence shaken. Maybe the mages are not such an outlandish idea. Then, Grand Enchanter Fiona calls him by name.

"Rian?" There is a smile on her delicate lips. "Is that truly you? I had heard the rumours about the survivor but - "

Cassandra does not give the former Grand Enchanter time to finish, she has Trevelyan by the throat, is crowding him against the wall. "You were part of the rebellion?" she spits.

Trevelyan does not flinch, he meets her gaze. His eyes are green, not the sickly, irreverent green of the Breach, of the Fade beyond, the deep green of forests, of emeralds. Against his dark lashes, his dark hair they are striking. Were he less scrawny, less gaunt, less pale, he would be handsome.

"Of course I was," he sneers. "Do you know what it's like to be condemned to a life of imprisonment just because of who you are?"

-

Leliana fills Cassandra in in drips and drabs, weaves together the messy strands of their Herald's life. Rian Trevelyan was sent to the Ostwick circle at the age of nine, when the Circles began to fall, he led the fight against the Templars there. By all accounts, he had been troublemaker long before the rebellion began, long before Kirkwall. There are rumours that the rite of tranquillity was being considered.

He was part of the group Fiona sent to negotiate.

The Maker may have sent him to them; Andraste herself may have plucked him from the Fade but Cassandra is here for a reason too.

"When the time comes," she says, in clipped tones across the war table. "We will seek out the Templar's support."

Trevelyan grits his teeth; his throat is beginning to bruise. "We can't leave the mages to Tevinter!"

"Fiona made her bed," Cassandra says, cruelly. "We will deal with them when we have secured more support."

-

She watches him closely as they consolidate their power; Trevelyan it seems is two different people.

During their layovers at Haven, he is quiet, reserved, spending much of his time with Varric or in the stables with the horses. He avoids Cullen and his men, will not even make eye-contact with the Commander if he can help it. In the field though, that meekness melts away. He fights her at every turn, second-guesses her, reminds her that the Templars are as much to blame for this as the mages. He knows she cannot argue, he is the Herald, this is a holy calling, his is the word of the Maker. All she can do is watch and hope he does not lead them down the wrong path.  

In the Fallow Mire, surrounded by the dead and death and dying things, Sera wrings out the over-coat they have forced upon her, elbows Cassandra in the ribs and says, "Word of advice, Seeker, when you're soft on someone don't spend all day staring at them dreamily. Comes across kind of creepy."

Across the camp, Trevelyan is talking to one of the scouts, Warden Blackwell at his side.

Cassandra sputters, cheeks warm. "I am doing nothing of the sort!"

Sera snorts, "Right. You're just checking Trevelyan's still got all his limbs, or something."

"I have been charged with ensuring his safety," she says and then adds, "And the safety of those around him."

Sera sobers a fraction, "Oh, right. Because he's a mage, yeah? Look, I know you Seekers are like Templar elite or whatever but Trevelyan's good people. Might be a bit overly invested in a world where blood mages run free but at the end of the day he's here with us wallowing through mud to fight some hill-people over some little no-one soldiers from nowhere. Kind of un-magey, yeah?"

-

On the long journey to Therinfal Redoubt, Trevelyan is silent, knuckles white on the reins of his mount. The dark circles under his eyes have grown more pronounced.

The night before their arrival, Varric presses a sleeping draught into his hands and says, "Come on, Sparks, you'll be no good to any of us if you can't stay awake."

"I'm about to walk into a den of wolves, Varric," Trevelyan says, quietly. "I doubt even that will be enough."

Across the fire, Vivenne rolls her eyes. "Really darling, if you insist on being so dramatic all the time no one will ever take you seriously."

"We didn't all end up as an Orlesian pet, Vivenne," Trevelyan spits. Varric keeps him sitting, has Trevelyan's staff pointedly out of reach.

Cassandra pulls him aside before they ride out the next morning. "The Lord Seeker has asked for you by name," she says.

-

It was a mistake to bring Trevelyan to Therinfal, she knows this as soon as they enter the courtyard. She steps forwards, intending to raise the flags herself but Ser Barris holds up a hand, "With respect, Seeker," he says, voice steady and calm. "The Lord Seeker has requested that the Herald complete the ritual, not you."

Trevelyan crosses his arms, narrows his eyes. "We do not have time for this."

"We have time if I say we have time," Cassandra says. She is trying to keep her temper in check but Trevelyan is acting as a petulant child, mocking Lord Abernache, sniping at Ser Barris, at the Templars that stand awkwardly in the yard around them, wielding his staff with pride. The Templars are aware that Trevelyan is a mage, it is not something the Inquisition has been able to hide, but they think him a faithful circle mage, favoured by Andraste for his loyalty.

He scoffs, grumbles, steps forwards.

The people's flag he raises first then, after careful consideration, he raises the flag of the Andraste. He does not touch the flag of the Order. The Templars in the courtyard whisper as he steps away. Ser Barris breathes in.

"Traditionally," he says, "The participant now explains their choices to those gathered."

Trevelyan crosses his arms, "My reasons are my own."

Not even Varric smiles. They all feel the weight here, feel the eyes on them, searching out any hint of weakness, any hint of corruption. Trevelyan is a fool. Cassandra tells herself once more that he has been chosen. He has been sent to them for a reason.

Ser Barris inclines his head, leads them on.

-

Trevelyan is by her side as the Knight-Captain approaches. They stand shoulder to shoulder, the Herald and the Seeker, as they do in the carefully crafted stories Leliana has spread for them. The twin heads of the Inquisition. He stands steady, stands proud as Abernache and Barris argue, keeps his interjections to a minimum but does not bite back his sighs, does not hold off on rolling his eyes.

When the Knight-Captain speaks, however, he tenses. "You were expecting the Lord Seeker," the man says, from behind his helm. "He sent me to die for you."

There is a clatter. Cassandra looks, sees Trevelyan's staff rolling across the wooden floor. "Denam," Trevelyan says, barely more than a whisper.

The Knight-Captain chuckles, "Hello, Trevelyan. It seems we are both a long way from home."

During the fight, Trevelyan is useless, clumsy, Cassandra finds herself defending just as often against stray lightning bolts as she does against blades and arrows. Twice she has to knock him out of the path of danger, Vivienne keeps up a barrier around him, it splits her focus, she curses under her breath as Cassandra passes her.

When the Templars are all felled, Ser Barris kneels beside his Captain. "Still breathing," Barris says, sounding almost impressed.

"Will he live?" Cassandra asks.

"With a healing draught he may," Ser Barris straightens up, meets her gaze. "If he deserves it," he adds.

"It might be useful to question him," Vivienne interjects.

She's right and Cassandra nods, "Heal him."

"I would love to, my dear," Vivienne says, "But unfortunately I used my last draught when some idiot hit me with a bolt of lightning."

"It wasn't on purpose," Trevelyan says, defensively. He stands on the other side of the room, wide-eyed.

Cassandra does not fully understand, they have fought Templars before and Trevelyan has never gone to pieces. She gleans the Knight-Captain had been at Ostwick but they have fought people Trevelyan knew before, have fought mages he once supported as Trevelyan yells through the fray, begs them to see reason, to lay down their staffs. They have killed them and still, Trevelyan has not gone to pieces like this.

"I'm out too," Varric says.

So is Cassandra, she tossed her last one to Barris as they felled the Knight-Captain. She looks to Trevelyan, he still has one secured to his belt but the bottle is cracked, the liquid has seeped out across his robes. She tells herself he did not have time to do it deliberately. He could not have known they would need one.

"Trevelyan," she says. "You have healing skills, do you not? We need to question him."

Trevelyan holds her gaze. He is always looking at her angrily but she has never seen such fury in his green eyes, such rage, such animosity. He breathes slow and steadily, as though it is taking great effort to keep himself steady, his jaw is clenched, tight.

"Easy there, Sparks," Varric says. "Cassandra's right, he might know something useful."

Trevelyan does not look at him, he holds Cassandra's gaze and, very softly, he says, "Please do not make me do that."

She narrows her gaze.

"I can look around," Ser Barris offers, "There might be some somewhere."

Vivienne scoffs, "Come on _darling,_ " she says, to Trevelyan, "We  know you're living out this silly little rebellion in your mind but there are people up there dying, good people, so would you please just heal the man so we can get on with doing what we came here to do?"

Slowly, Trevelyan begins to move.

"There's a pet, such a good boy," Vivienne says. She looks across at Cassandra, "See, my dear, he responds quite well if you spell things out for him using small words."

Cassandra hates her too.

Trevelyan kneels by the Knight-Captain, his hands glow green as he presses them against the bloody tear in the man's side. When he's done he stands.

"There," Vivienne says, triumphantly. "That wasn't so difficult, was it?"

Trevelyan looks very pale. He turns to face her, holds her gaze a moment and throws up between them. Cassandra stares, Vivienne scowls.

The sound of fighting gets louder, has them scrambling for the door. As she passes, she yanks Trevelyan up by the collar, "Are you with us?" she demands.

" _Yes_ ," he grits out. _Yes._

-

And he is. He stands at her side, he fights hard, he fights with precision, without mercy, sends bolts of lightning through the shuffling things that used to be humans, freezes them solid in bursts of snow and ice so Varric can shatter them with explosive arrow heads.

When they are done, when the demon has been defeated he stands beside her as she passes judgement on the Templars. She decides they will be leashed.

-

She seeks him out afterwards, finds him in the courtyard watching as the Knight-Captain is dragged out and shackled.

"Bastard," he mutters. "He deserves to burn, he deserves to die bloody."

Cassandra thinks of the dead Templars, the murdered Knight-Vigilant, the cracked skin of those infected with the red lyrium. "On that count, we can agree at least."

Trevelyan looks at her, there is something he wants to say but doesn't. Instead, he kicks at the ground, "Thank you for conscripting them as prisoners, not as allies."

"Would you have stayed if I had brought them in as allies?" Cassandra asks.

Trevelyan raises an eyebrow, "Would you have let me get away?"

Cassandra smiles, "I would have given you a sporting chance, at least."

It is almost friendly. Almost.

"I am sorry that I asked you to heal him," she says, haltingly. "It is obvious you had... some sort of history."

Trevelyan's smile is grim, "You could say that. Where will he be kept?"

"There are cells under the Chantry, he will be under constant watch," she promises.

He nods, goes back to staring glumly out at the former Templars making themselves ready for travel.

"Not all Templars are cruel, you know," she says because it suddenly seems very important.

He looks at her, "Not all mages are abominations."

The journey back is quiet. Trevelyan and Varric stick close together, talk quietly, Lady Vivienne rides apart from them, head held high like she is truly above it all. Around the camp fire at night Cassandra finds herself wishing she had chosen others to accompany them. Blackwall would at least humour her, Bull would talk tactics, Sera would sing and make filthy jokes.

Sera she finds she misses the most.

-

Haven is burning, they stand in the chantry.

"The summer pilgrimage," Chancellor Roderick is saying, choking, while the Tevinter mage tries and fails to heal him. "She must have shown me the path for this reason."

Trevelyan is staring; he turns his green eyes to her before Cullen. He looks tired; he always looks tired but now the tired looks bone-deep. "Will it work, Cullen? Can you get them out?"

It will work. Their people, at least, will survive. Cassandra makes to follow Trevelyan but he puts out a hand, holds her back, shakes his head. "One of us has to survive," he says. "Help Cullen get them out. I will give you as much time as I can."

-

The next time she sees him it is by the green glow of his hand against the blinding snow. Cullen lifts him carefully; the Herald's head lolls against his armour. He struggles when they set him down on a cot, eyes wide and fevered, "Where is he? Where is he?"

The odd boy from the Redoubt appears beside him, "The other side of the camp, don't worry. They have him in chains." He reaches out, presses his fingers to Trevelyan's forehead. "He cannot hurt you. Forget for a while. Sleep."

The Tevinter mage is at Cassandra's side, hands glowing green with healing magic. "I'm not even going to ask," he says, decisively before stepping forwards to kneel beside Trevelyan.

Cassandra follows the boy out towards the edge of camp. She draws her sword. Trevelyan is attached to the boy, to the demon. He and Solas claim it is a spirit, harmless, wanting only to help but mages have always bent easily to the will of demons.

"Halt, demon," she calls and the boy does, long fingers folded into fists at his side. "What did you just do to the Herald? Explain yourself before I run you through."

"I'm sorry," the boy says. He doesn't turn around. "I did not mean to let you see. He doesn't want you to, I think, anyway. He's very loud. It's hard to hear sometimes underneath it all."

"Speak plainly," Cassandra demands. "The Herald is loud?"

"Yes," the boys says, tilts his head to the side but only just, like he is watching Cassandra out of the corner of his eye. Something in his voice _shifts._ "Ribs cracked, arm broken, father is very upset, mother tries to help but - _there is no magic in my blood, that whore must have strayed -_ lonely, lonely, the Templars weren't always cruel but they were never kind, Denam was different though soft until he wasn't but by then, there was no one to go to for help - "

"Denam," Cassandra echoes. "The Knight-Captain?"

The boy does not respond, does not seem to even hear instead, he goes on:

"Dark, dark, dark then, ropes burning sharper than daggers, voice heavy and hot, first _everything_ but now - the demon spoke so prettily."

Cassandra's blood runs cold.

"The demon promised to make it all stop."

-

She offers to watch over the Inquisitor when Mother Giselle retires. They are still uncertain about the young man's nature, Trevelyan trusts him, Solas assures them he means no harm, that he wishes only to help. Cassandra is being foolish to trust so implicitly in the young man's words but her nerves are frayed, they have been arguing in circles for hours over where to go next, over where they even are.

On the cot, Trevelyan pitches and moans. "Fiona," he mumbles. "I'm sorry."

Vivienne told her already that the former Grand Enchanter was present at Haven, now lies dead with one of Sera's arrows in her throat under a mound of snow and rock.

The Tevinter mage raises his head from the sleeping roll he has laid out beside Trevelyan's cot. "What?" he murmurs, sleepily. "Is he awake?"

"No," Cassandra says.

The mage sits up, scrubs at his eyes.

"Were his injuries extensive?" Cassandra asks.

"Considering he dropped half a mountain on himself, no, they really weren't." He stands, stretches. "Lucky old sod, isn't he? Now we just have to hope he knows the way out of this blizzard." He strides off into the inky black.

-

"It is unlikely that Cole would lie," Solas says, voice heavy and sad. "I do not think he knows how. But what he told you is indeed troubling if true."

"Would you be able to tell?" Cassandra asks.

Solas exhales, "Usually, yes. But spirits can be clever and the mark muddles things."

Ahead of them, Trevelyan slips inelegantly down the rock he had been climbing, lands in a heap of long limbs in the snow, breathless and red-cheeked in the cold. Sera and Scout Harding are beside themselves with laughter, Dorian holds out a hand, hefts the Herald upwards.

When Cassandra looks back to him, Solas is smiling faintly. "Rest assured though, that I do not think we have anything to worry about where Trevelyan is concerned. You could, however, try asking."

-

By the time they reach Skyhold they have all agreed: they need to appoint an Inquisitor. It has come down to herself and Trevelyan. Cole's words echo with every step, every word she speaks. They cannot appoint an abomination as Inquisitor, even one that wears a friendly face but he led them out of Haven, stared down an ancient Magister and an arch-demon and lived. He is fade-touched, Andraste's chosen.

She calls him to her in the courtyard, walks him up the stone steps a way so they can talk quietly. He is still exhausted, they all are. She will make this quick. "We have decided it is time to appoint an Inquisitor, we have been leaderless too long."

Trevelyan eyes her warily.

"After Haven, Cole said something interesting to me."

Trevelyan frowns, "I wasn't aware you were in the habit of speaking with him."

"Do not change the subject," Cassandra warns. "He was speaking of your past. He mentioned a demon."

Trevelyan pales, tugs absently at his sleeves. "I..." he begins but he breaks off looks out towards the gates, to the steady stream of people entering the grounds.

"I will know if you are lying," Cassandra says. When he remains silent, Cassandra sighs, follows his gaze. There are many more people than there were when they left Haven, travellers they picked up along the way, pilgrims from the scattered villages in the mountains. More arrive to join them each day. More arrive to place their lives in their hands.

"Trevelyan," she begins but then sighs, corrects herself. "Rian, if we are to truly help these people we must be united. We must trust in one another."

Trevelyan closes his eyes. "What happened to your brother?" he asks and Cassandra blinks. She had forgotten mentioning Anthony to Trevelyan at all. But she understands, supposes it is fair, tit-for-tat, wound-for-wound.

"He was murdered," she says, quietly. "By blood mages. I was very young."

When Trevelyan opens his eyes they are bright with unshed tears. "I am sorry," he says, and means it. "The demon - I - " he looks away again, eyes falling on Commander Cullen far below. "I suppose you know not all Templars are as noble as our Commander. I only wanted it to stop, I could not think of another option but then - " he smiles, a broken, sad thing. "I didn't get a chance, know that? I was preparing for the summoning when they rebellion began. I suppose the Maker must have been looking out for me even then."

She offers him the sword, offers him the title. He pushes them back into her hands. "That is not for me," he says. "Being Herald is enough."

The people cheer as she raises the blade, Trevelyan at her side.

-

They still bicker, still butt heads, over the Wardens, over who should hold power in Orlais, it is not easy, this delicate balancing act between them but there are moments, she thinks.

In the Winter Palace, after Florianne has been hauled away and the three bickering would-be rulers have been united, she watches Trevelyan dance with Dorian on the balcony overlooking Halamshiral. There is blood on Trevelyan's sash. Dorian holds him close, their foreheads pressed together. She has not seen the Herald smile so much since he joined.

Dorian presses a kiss to Trevelyan's cheek. He is gentle with Trevelyan despite his quips and cynicism. When they sentenced Knight-Captain Denam he had been there, within arms reach if Trevelyan needed him.

"Alright, Inquisitor," Sera's brash tones ruin the moment. She approaches from behind, stands close enough to Cassandra that their arms brush. Her skin is warm beneath the fabric of their suits. "This whole 'keeping an eye on the mage thing' is getting old and boring and kind of _sad,_ really. So he's got pretty eyes and a glowing hand, the world doesn't stop and end with him, you know."

And yes, she knows. Sort of. She has stopped watching him out of caution, started watching him out of concern.

Sera huffs in annoyance, presses their arms together by inches until she is tangling their fingers together, breath warm on Cassandra's cheek, "Come _on,_ Seeker, can't you take your eyes off him for _one minute_?"

She tugs.

Cassandra relents.


End file.
